Marissa came home from work and set her keys on the counter. Four-thirty in the afternoon, she expected her children to come running to her from upstairs and be followed by the babysitter; however, not a sound was heard in the house.
“Jaeson? Mikaela? Grace?” She called at the bottom of the stair case.
Marissa walked up the stairs, worry growing in her heart with each step. She opened the bedroom door to find the kids and babysitter with Grace, whose face was tear-stained, looking at her bandaged finger. Marissa scooped Grace up, kissed the bandage, and held her baby girl tight.
Life. Was it really worth it? Standing in the middle of my bedroom, I looked down at the bottle in my hand. It held pills so small, yet so powerful. One or two could temporarily free me from the pain of this wretched world. I opened the cap and inspected a pill. It was circular in shape, about the diameter of my fingernail. One pill wouldn’t hurt, right? My heart held onto too many hurts, though. Just one pill couldn’t cover them all. I dumped out another five. Thoughts raced through my brain. Whatever happened to my strength and love for life?
AUTHOR NOTE: This story is 100% fictional; it is not at all a personal testimony or personal experience. It is not related to anyone the author knows, and if there is similar life story, it all is plainly coincidence.
***If you or someone else you know or love struggles with thoughts like this, the author begs and pleads for you to TELL SOMEONE. Family and friends are here to help. They love you, despite what thoughts you might have about how they feel about you. Ultimately though, Jesus loves you. Death is a permanent solution to a temporary situation…PLEASE TALK TO SOMEONE IF YOU ARE EXPERIENCING SUICIDAL THOUGHTS.***
Please check out the second and third part of this story at the following links!
Word Nineteen: Gray (part 2)
Word Twenty-Eight: Sorrow (part 3)
Figures burst through glass doors. Yelling entailed. Hands flew upward. Gunshots pierced the air. Crackles filled my ear drums. Windows shattered. Screams surrounded me. Children cried; mothers clung to their young. Bullets dropped to the ground. People hugged the floor. Heads were all face down, foreheads were glued to the cold tiles. Metal clanged against the tile. Footsteps crunched on broken glass, as though to carefully inspect bodies lying on the floor. The killer’s whispers broke into the air. A pause in movement occurred. I waited. All movement had stopped. Light faded into dark. Voices hushed.
The silence was deafening.
Elisabeth’s aunt called with news she’d never hope to hear. Elisabeth’s mother was struck by a drunk driver. She wasn’t dead, but she could go either way. Elisabeth threw some jeans and tee shirts into a suitcase to leave for home. Once by her mother’s bedside, a photo on the nightstand caught Elisabeth’s eye. Taken before she was born, it was a photo of Elisabeth’s parents on their wedding day thirty years ago. Her mother looked stunning in her dress; her face was beaming. Elisabeth looked back at her mother to see her lips slightly curved and her eyes crinkled, and relief filled Elisabeth’s heart.
Cell phone in his left hand, a coin in the right, and a milestone ahead. James looked at the number already dialed into his phone, then glanced at the coin that lay in his other hand, reflecting the sun’s glare. The phone number belonged to his father who had left when James was but a year old. With a toss of a coin, James could change their relationship. He flicked the coin in the air, and it landed on tails. Tails. The side that would push him to call. Too bad he didn’t know of his father’s death some years ago.
He hits me. She yells at me. He tells me he loves me. She says I need to stand up straighter. He pinches my arms. She can’t look me in the eyes. He beats me when I don’t do anything wrong. She won’t even hug me. He says he doesn’t mean to hurt me and when he hits me, he at least apologizes. She never apologizes; her remarks are harsh and relentless. He leaves marks on my body, she leaves marks on my soul. This is my father, and that is my mother, and yet I love them both.
The rain pitter-pattered against Rose’s living room bay window. She watched as raindrops danced down the window pane. Ah, the rain. It held so many beloved memories. She recalled jumping in puddles with her yellow polka dot galoshes at age 4 (which her mother would always scold her, saying her slacks would be ruined), running from the school bus to her warm, safe house when she was a teenager (to which Rose chuckled, because she recalled she hated the rain as a teen!), and, her first kiss was in the rain, too. Oh, how Rose loved the memories of her youth.
Bailey’s feet hit the pavement. With each passing second, distance between her and the car grew. It was January, and she had been out on her nightly run when someone followed her in a black Buick. Alarmed, Bailey glanced over her shoulder as she ran.
The cold air smacked Bailey’s face, rushed through her nostrils, and wrapped its arms of wrath around her lungs, sucked life from them, and made it hard for Bailey to breathe. She finally rounded the corner of row homes where she resided. She ran up the steps, flung open the front door, and breathed in.
He looked out his review mirror as he adjusted it. Cracked his knuckles, and then he tightened his gloves. He wiped the bead of sweat dripping from his forehead. He secured his helmet.
He placed his hands back on the steering wheel, grasping it tightly. This was not just a game for him. This would either make or break his career. He looked at the driver to his left, who was intently watching the signal change colour. He looked through his own windshield to see…
Go time. His foot pushed down the accelerator and off he sped.
“So Mama, what’s it mean?”
Charlotte looked down upon her 4 year old daughter, Rebecca. Spitting image of her father, she was, or so Charlotte believed.
“John always said Rebecca got her beauty from me. What a considerate husband.”, Charlotte thought.
Rebecca stood waiting with her hands beside her body, head titled. Her green eyes sparkled with a curiosity that Charlotte loved to see. Blonde curls framed her round face and her rosy lips were pursed. Charlotte smiled at Rebecca, bent down to her level, and pushed a lock of hair behind Rebecca’s ear.
“You’ll know someday, my dear.”